In and Out of the Comfort Zone

When you live in the same place for years (10+) and work at the same place for even more years (23+) you are pretty much in your comfort zone all the time. Yes, the commute that I had from Aptos to Palo Alto could be unpredictable and even a bit of nightmare at times and occasionally something would come up at work or in my private life that might be a teeny tiny bit out of my comfort zone, but really on a day-to-day basis my life in California is pretty routine and comfortable.   Three months ago when I arrived here in Ghana one of the biggest changes both for me and the hubster was that every day we are way out of our comfort zone. Every. Single. Day.

Moving to an English-speaking country seemed as though it would be easy enough to communicate with people here but even that is a challenge. Sometimes when I am speaking my American English to the Uber driver, the shopkeeper, my MMRC group or even anyone in my French class including the professor, I get this look. A look like perhaps I am speaking Russian or Tagalog or maybe Martian and then they respond to my question or statement with what usually seems to me some unrelated topic.   Typical conversation:

Me (to Uber driver): “Turn left at the next street.”

Uber driver: “Here?” Starts to turn left in the middle of the street.

Me: “No, no not here. Turn left at the next street.”

Uber driver: “Here?” Nodding his head in direction of the street on the RIGHT.

This can go on for quite a while if you start to give directions too far in advance. Being direct and not giving ANY extraneous information is very, very important. I have to remind the hubster of this daily – do not talk about anything that doesn’t have to do with what you are trying to do at that moment. I am also extremely bad at this: I like to elaborate on just about everything and like to chat about unrelated topics at length. I am assuming this is an American thing, but maybe it’s just me.

Even the weather is way out of my comfort zone. Before we moved here and I was reading up on living in Ghana one of things that really struck me was the description of the climate here – hot and oppressive. This is an understatement. For this California-born and -raised woman I find that some days my entire body feels completely wiped out because maybe I walked a mile to class, or ran 6 miles when the humidity was up to 92% (with temps in the 80s) or sat in a stifling hot taxi or Uber in traffic for an hour. Sometimes, being a glutton for punishment, I do all three of those things in one day.   Nothing feels better than walking into our air-conditioned apartment and flopping down on the bed and just savoring not being quite so hot (I won’t say cold because I have yet to feel cold here).

Then there is the grocery shopping experience.   There is a lovely air-conditioned market just up the street from us. We can walk there (preferably not in the middle of the day). They have a nice selection of fresh fruits and veggies and meat. I noticed one day they actually had some taco shells and salsa, so the next week after I spy these reminders of home I decide to make tacos for dinner.   The hubster and I walk up the street – it is already about 6 PM, I am hungry, but am happy that tacos don’t take too long. Go straight to the aisle with the tacos and…they have converted the entire aisle into Christmas cookies! First, it was still November and second, where are my tacos? One week the store will carry Diet Coke, the next week none. One week, they have your favorite yogurt, the next week some crappy brand that you don’t like.   Our local liquor store has been out of BEER, yes, beer, local West African beer for a week.  So we are learning to never assume you will see an item again and if it is not perishable – buy as much as you can carry home!

There are plenty of other things that are out of our comfort zone including getting used to all the people in the community (including the younger kids but not my girls) where I have my MMRC group yelling, “White lady, white lady!” at me.   Realizing voicemail and texting are not really a thing here, but WhatsApp is. When you drive across the border to Togo and Benin, as we did a few weeks ago, and you have to show all your documentation to get OUT of each country (this included one Beninois immigration official falling asleep while he “checked” our visas). Going to my driver’s church, a 2 ½ hour Charismatic Christian service, that included being marched into a room after the service with the other “first timers” at an attempt to recruit us – definitely awkward.

Yet, thankfully, there are still a few things that still fall into my comfort zone. I have found a great group of women to run with here, some who live very close to me. Waking up early (we run at 5:30 AM) and going for a run with people I like and can talk to about life, running races with them (I even got a first place finish) now that is what I know and love. Having the luxury of checking in with all my kids and a few other family and friends via WhatsApp or DuoMobile with a really good internet connection, easy stuff. Sitting down and eating dinner with the hubster, having yogurt with granola and bananas for breakfast and reading the New York Times, Washington Post or a good novel, yes, definitely in my comfort zone.

Over time some my “out of comfort” zone items have become a bit more familiar and I expect more will over the next few months. With the discomfort comes growth, which is part of the reason the hubster and I decided to embark on this adventure in the first place.   To be in our 60s and able to have this eye-opening, beautiful, messy and uncomfortable experience and grow our hearts and minds just a little, is a blessing.    A blessing that we are grateful for every day.